


Actions Speak in a Peculiar Language

by gallifreyanlibertea



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Capture the Flag, M/M, Some jock on jock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 14:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11083332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyanlibertea/pseuds/gallifreyanlibertea
Summary: Alfred Jones is absolutely, positively gay, and this particular game of capture the flag pushes his limits farther than they've been pushed before.





	Actions Speak in a Peculiar Language

Alfred was always one for school spirit, but he tended to draw the line at spontaneous contact sports under the boiling heat of the spring sun.

“Rule one, don’t guard too close to the flag!”

Sure, every day brought them closer to summer, which meant class rigor was beginning to taper off, resulting in, well, _this._ Whole classrooms were transferred out onto the football field because screw review periods, capture the flag was way more fun.

“Rule two, if you get caught, you’re basically a prisoner for the other team until your own team member comes in and gets you out!”

Alfred wasn’t dressed for this. He’d long since abandoned his heavy leather jacket, yet nevertheless, his legs cooked under his full-length jeans and little droplets of sweat gathered at his forehead under the swoop of his slightly damp hair. It wouldn’t be long before his glasses threatened to slip down his nose.

“Rule three, whichever team gets all the flags by the end, or at least most of them by the time class is over, wins.”

Of course, since luck was always on his side, his team had elected him to guard their flag. He would’ve much rather been in an offense position. Hell, he was a fast runner and at least the wind from moving would give him some air, but as always, fooled by his muscular demeanor, the people had assumed he was a better defender. Their mistake. Alfred didn’t really care, he just didn’t like doing math in class.

“Alright that’s enough rules, you can start.”

One of their teachers blew the whistle and the result was rather anticlimactic. Both classes stood staring at each other, waiting for the other to make a move.

Alfred rolled his eyes.

The teachers had mixed the classes together and made two teams with an equal distribution of kids from each class. Alfred didn’t know anyone from the class they were playing with, only that it was a P.E. class, seeing as they were all clad in shorts and airy T-shirts. Lucky bastards.

Alfred carded his fingers through his damp hair, fixing the position of his glasses and watching as a scrawny kid from the other team kicked the game off by making a scrambling start towards where Alfred stood. One of Alfred’s classmates got him. It was too easy.

Yawn.

He couldn’t help imagining just how invigorating this whole experience would be if it was, say, the football team playing it. They’d played it once before when Coach was too tired to practice. Alfred remembered being on the offense team, tackling people to the ground, running after people who _actually_ put up a good chase.

He wasn’t bitter, not at all.

On the contrary, he felt rather sweet. After all, he was the only somewhat able-bodied person on the entire field. Despite there being a P.E. class, there was not one dude who wasn’t limp or noodle-armed or-

Oh.

Alfred took it back because the body in his line of sight was as able as it got.

And to think he’d gone a whole day without being a raging homosexual.

Alfred knew his name. It was Kirkland-something or the other, little brother to _the_ Allistair Kirkland, the soccer star of their school. When Allistair had graduated, the little guy had been pressured to fill in his elder brother’s shoes. Which he did, and  _boy_ could he play.

He filled in his shorts too, Alfred mentally noted.

“Francis, I said no guarding the flag!” The coach hollered, “Burying it in the ground counts as guarding!”

The callout resulted in scattered snickers but none from the Kirkland boy. Alfred watched as the soccer player narrowed his eyes, brows knitted as he paced the field, completely and utterly lost in the game.

Competitive. Alfred liked that.

He would’ve also liked to remain admiring, to keep tossing fleeting glances at the figure that could easily be the last coke in the desert. Oh god, Alfred was so parched, and yes, it was hard to keep an eye on the flag when he was this distracted, but who cared? It wasn’t like anyone could outrun him anyway.

Oh, save for maybe Mr. Kirkland with those legs that seemed to go on for days…

Alfred was so, so gay.

But again, Lady Luck had decided to have Alfred stare just as the pair of eyes belonging to those legs turned back to look at him.

Needless to say, Alfred choked.

Abort, abort! Blue eyes averted back to the game. One of the players on Alfred’s team had managed to get caught, but it didn’t really matter in the long run, the guy wasn’t a good runner. They’d managed to catch a few people from the other team as well, but no flags.

He let himself drag his eyes back toward Kirkland to find green eyes trained intently back on his. Alfred pretended the red in his cheeks was from the sun and took to fanning himself, eyes averting to a skinny guy, who had managed to get past the first line of defense, and watching as he came spiraling right towards the flag behind him.

No sweat, Alfred tagged him out. He looked up to find Kirkland looking back at him, a small smile playing on his lips. Was he impressed?

No! It didn’t matter, Alfred couldn’t give himself away that easily. One more look and he would be exposed, he knew better than that!

He supposed it didn’t matter, seeing as in the time he took to swipe his glasses off, polish them with his shirt and place them back on the bridge of his nose, Kirkland was standing right next to him.

“You seem awful distracted, mate.”

The burn in Alfred’s chest was either from forgetting to breathe or feeling his soul ascend into heaven.

“I- um, I’m not, I’m, uh, hi.”

“With the heat and all, I wouldn’t blame ya.” Alfred watched with a jaw firmly clenched, as if to prevent it falling right down to his ankles, as Kirkland lifted the hem of his shirt, ducking his head to pat his face dry. All those months of hard soccer training were made evident with the creamy, toned midriff presented in that deliciously slow fraction of time. That is, before the shirt dropped and Alfred could breathe again. “I’m Arthur, you?”

“Alfred.” Alfred managed to say, as if the past few minutes of his repeated choked dialogue hadn’t happened.

“Are you on a sports team?” Green eyes traveled over the length of Alfred’s body, if only for a split second, “Gives you quite a workout, doesn’t it?”

Alfred chuckled, the noise dangerously on the brink of a giggle, “Yeah, I play football.”

Another, slightly faster guy from the other team swept in from the back, attempting to pluck the flag off the ground and scramble back toward his side. He came closer than Alfred would have normally let him, seeing as he was a bit distracted, but the guy was tagged out before he could even think of touching the flag.

Arthur awarded him with a low whistle, “Lightning reflexes.”

“Nothing good ol’ fashioned training wouldn’t do for ya.” Was Alfred’s humble response.

“You should train me some time.”

Alfred was sure the offer was hollow. Why would a guy like Arthur need training from him? Alfred had been to the soccer matches himself, he’d seen the way the lithe little guy could carry himself.

He was a blur to Alfred’s eyes regardless of his pre-existing nearsightedness.

Which could only mean- I mean it _had_ to, didn’t it? It could only mean that Arthur Kirkland was somehow, maybe, _hopefully_ asking to spend time with him.

Oh, he could almost imagine it. Training Arthur Kirkland.

He could feel the sweat gathering at their hairlines as they sprinted down the track, footsteps in tandem, skin flushed, stopping to lean against one another, panting, gasping for air.

Maybe Arthur would wear his little running shorts, maybe _nothing else._

Well, that was a bit too far-fetched, yet the prospect of training who Alfred had already proclaimed to be a god was enough to set his face aflame.

“Aw, hell, you wouldn’t need training.”

Arthur smiled in response and Alfred almost didn’t notice him inching closer. “Want to know a secret?”

Oh boy.

It was times like these Alfred wished gaydars were a tangible thing. A fancy little gadget he could tuck away in his sleeve, or an app on his phone he could whip out in a blink, point it right between Arthur’s eyes and wait for a beep.

Or at least he hoped there would be a beep.

People hardly just came out with it. All for good reasons, of course, but how easy would it be? If Arthur had just looked him right in the eyes and said, “I’m attracted to men”, or “yes homo”, or-

“I play for the other team.”

Alfred blinked, staring down at a smirking Arthur, who was now close enough that Alfred swore he could hear his lashes thudding as he blinked, that he could count every last freckle splashed across his nose.

“You- you what?”

The hand that pressed against his chest was quite the punch, knocking every last particle of air out of his lungs. Arthur’s fingers splayed across the fabric of Alfred’s white shirt.

“I play for the other team, mate.”

Arthur fell to his feet and all the air came rushing back into Alfred’s system. Any beeping his radar had emitted blended into the spring breeze. He watched, almost unable to move, like it was played to him in slow motion, as Arthur swiped the flag from behind him, turning to sprint back to his side of the field.

Well, not before shooting Alfred a wink over his shoulder.

* * *

“You’re fast.”

Arthur glanced up from his position hunched over the water fountain. With a satisfied sigh and a quick lick of his lips, he stretched back up, eyebrows raised as Alfred slunk in through the door.

After they’d lost the game, their teacher had decided to let them have a quick break. The weather definitely called for a water recharge, and the heat from his classmates wasn’t helping either.

“Don’t be hard on yourself, you weren’t at your best,” Arthur responded as he stepped aside, gesturing to the fountain. “Want a drink?”

Alfred shook his head.

“Oh come off it, you’re not mad at me, are you?” Arthur smirked. “If it means so much to you, I’ll train you.”

The words set a fire in Alfred’s chest and he either needed to get that checked or let it encompass him, engulf him, because when would there ever be a next time a pretty boy even spoke in his general direction?

“Can I trust you this time?” Alfred said and Arthur’s brows shot up in silent judgment.

“Trust me on this, love, you _need_ to be taught.”

Arthur stepped toward the door, leaving Alfred standing behind him.

“There’s a time and place to be _utterly_ gay, and if I can find exactly where those are, the least I can do is help you as well.”

If that wasn’t erratic beeping on the radar, Alfred didn’t know what was.


End file.
